


Hidden Blade

by killalla



Category: Assassin's Creed, Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killalla/pseuds/killalla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reese is aware of the inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Blade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laura Kaye (laurakaye)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurakaye/gifts).



Despite his daily morning run, and the push ups that he practices in the apartment or at the Library while waiting for each new number, Reese can’t deny the truth of it – the years of living in the shadows, on the run, are beginning to take their toll. His reaction times are slower than they were just a few months ago, his wounds take longer to heal, and he gets a recurrent ache in his left shoulder when the temperature drops. Sure, he can still take down a group of street thugs without breaking much of a sweat, but age is having an effect. Even if he’d remained with the Agency, he’d soon be reaching the point at which they promoted you up or out – either a desk job at Langley as a grey suited bureaucrat or an early retirement, but in either case, out of the field for good. He had just honestly never expected to live long enough to have the choice.

Which is why sometimes, when the dreams and insomnia keep him awake (and without resorting to the cheap whiskey he’d once used to self-medicate), he finds himself sitting in the dark in front of a brightly lit screen, playing out scenes from the life of a man who in turn lives though the lives of his ancestors. In this fantasy, he is still has the reflexes of a 20 year old, along with a strength and agility he never quite managed even at his best, not to mention superlative vision and a superhuman level of marksmanship. It is a world where he can climb and jump and tumble with the grace of an acrobat, where he can bring down armies with nothing more than found weapons and a few pieces of metal. The plot is also oddly comforting; a sideways mirror reflecting his past and present in its story of a brotherhood of men who work in the shadows to preserve freedom in the face of oppression and fear. 

He thinks of it as a private but innocent habit, the meaning of which never really hits him until the day that he finds a plain wooden box waiting for him on a table in the Library. Inside, wrapped in oiled linen, are a set of hidden blades – beautifully decorated, custom crafted, and unmistakably deadly. These are no costume props or replicas – their weight and sharpness suggests they are indeed fit for purpose.

“They’re entirely authentic, at least in so far as the game aesthetic combines with real world functionality.” Finch’s voice is mildly dismissive, as if acquiring rare fictional weapons were the same thing as ‘getting those doughnuts you liked.’ “Each one is in essence a switchblade housed in a vambrace. I expect they’re a little exotic and impractical for daily use, but I know you keep a varied arsenal in any case, and they might come in handy in an emergency.”

Almost reverently, Reese lifts the blades from their wrappings. Period workmanship re-created with modern materials. Grooved steel composite plates, strong but thin and ultra light, fitted over soft, chemically treated leather. Reese shrugs out of his suit jacket, and Finch is there at his side. His fingers are as deft and gentle as always, as he fits the vambraces over the crisp white cotton of Reese’s shirtsleeves and carefully threads the laces, pulling them snug - tight enough for security, while loose enough for comfort. Replacing the jacket hides the entire mechanism completely. Reese steps back, raises his arms, and with a careful flick of the wrist, the blades slide into place with an audible ‘snick.’ 

“Where did you even find…” Reese applies just a touch of pressure and the blades pivot so that they can be used as daggers. “…something like this?”

“It’s surprising what you can do with the power of the internet – mix a few hard core game enthusiasts with a military historian, a materials scientist, a weapons designer and a considerable sum of money, and you can create things that never existed before.” Finch takes off his glasses, and absently begins to polish them with his pocket square. “As for why - I understand only too well the desire to escape into another world. One where you can have all the strength and speed and power that you’ll never have again, if you ever did. And I thought that at least one of us should have the opportunity to live that particular dream.”

In that moment Reese realizes that he’s far from alone in being acutely aware of his body’s limitations, of seeing a certain freedom slip away as the slow weight of age and infirmity begins to box him in. One day, he’ll dodge too slowly, or Finch will. But not today. He curls his wrists upwards, and the blades retract. “For a little while, at least.” 

Finch smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned elsewhere, I am mildly obsessed with the idea of John Reese as being avid player and fan of Assassin’s Creed. Laura Kaye suggested Finch might source him a set of hidden blades, and apparently I really wanted to write that fic.


End file.
